Starless Eyes
by Nefayrious
Summary: A random collection of letters never sent. The best kind, really. HermioneDraco. Or whatever you want them to be, I suppose.
1. Comprehensive

Disclaimer: You know the drill.

Author's Note: They aren't linked. They don't always make sense. They simply are. So let them be. Sometimes they will be connected to something else, part of a larger picture, and then I'll let you know. Some of them are from him to her, others from her to him. Which? Your call.

**Comprehensive**

Some days I just don't get it.

Hell, there's my ego getting in the way again.

Okay. Let's try this one more time.

I don't get it. I never have. I don't expect I ever will.

I know I shouldn't. I know, already; stop screaming at me.

In spite of everything, though, I still do.

You know, you treat me like hell. Even when you treat me like a goddess. Because even when you're running hot, I know, give it an hour, and you'll be back to the cold-hearted asshole you've always been. You're so indecisive.

And I hate it. I hate the way hurt me. I hate the way you kiss me. I hate the way you call me a mudblooded whore. I hate the way you call me your Angel. I hate the way you laugh at me. I hate the way you mock me. I hate the way you hold me in your arms and swear you'll never let me go. I hate the way you always do. I hate the way you can never decide whether you love or hate me.

But most of all, I hate the way I can never decide whether I love or hate you.

I saw you again today. And it was worse than last time. You didn't even look at me. Didn't even acknowledge me. I'd prefer the usual verbal assault to that. But you never said a word just walked right on by as if I were nothing. Am I nothing? Some days it sure as hell feels like it.

I wish I could say it was over. I wish I could say that I'm through with your awful game. I wish I had the strength to walk away. But you know what they say. I'm a damned know-it-all. I have to understand everything. And I can't leave until I understand this.

Right now, I don't get it. I never have. I don't expect I ever will.

Somehow, that's okay.


	2. Two Shots

****

Two Shots

I know what you always say.

You describe me as an eerie sort of perfection, so flawless that it frightens you at times. And without emotion, because that was always part of your definition of perfect.

But it was never mine.

Why do you do that? You're always disagreeing with me. I suppose you could say that I'm always disagreeing with you, but that should only be further proof of how wrong all of this is.

It isn't you, it's me. How often is that lie used to console a breaking heart? Contrary to all you believe, I do have a heart. I'm also more aware of yours than you think, than you wish.

I watch you struggle to be perfect, to hide everything you feel. Foolish girl. That isn't perfection. And you already are.

You see me as perfect, but you're blind. I am tainted, and you, the essence of purity. How is this so hard for you to understand? A concept that's been embedded in your mind for years, you erase so easily. And here I stand struggling to adjust to the revelation of your former point of view.

It's not supposed to be this way. You should be right. My very name signifies perfection, and your heritage by nature is slurred. Yet somehow I'm no longer looking out through those eyes, and I don't suspect I'll ever again be able to. But I've got to try, you see.

Because this isn't right. I know you think I only fear for my reputation, but that isn't so: I fear for yours. I fear for you.

I'll hurt you, you know. I carry only pain and suffering in my wake. It's all I've given you so far. Don't lie to me. You never were very good at it. In your eyes, your very heart is so clearly writ.

I used to think that it made you weak. But it further exemplifies your purity of heart, your absolute honesty.

How could you possibly want me, covered in layer upon layer of deception?

And how could I possibly want you, my polar opposite?

It doesn't matter why, I suppose. It doesn't even matter that I do. I can't. You're dying inside, I can see it, but it's better this way. It'd only hurt more later.

You'll love again. Laugh again. Cry again. Dance again.

And I'll be watching from the sidelines, while someone else makes you happy.

But it's better this way.


	3. Blue

I know I shouldn't be writing to you still. After all, it's been so long. But somehow, I can't let go. I'd like to say that I don't love you anymore, but I'm not entirely certain. Because I still think of you, almost everyday. Not intentionally. Your memory slips into my thoughts when I least expect. And for a moment, I forget to breathe.

Because I still love you. It's been forever since you left me, but I'm missing you a little more each day. You could always make me laugh, even right after you'd make me cry. You were the missing part of my soul, and I will **never** forgive you for abandoning me.

I hate you, you know. I despise you with everything I am. I hate the way you make me feel. Like my mind and heart are being pulled in two opposite directions. I feel lightheaded, as though the ground has disappeared beneath my feet. My heart is missing, in its place a cold abyss. But I've never felt so complete. I'm flying and falling at the same time. I hate it. But like the most addictive drug, I crave the blissful hell you bring me.

Still . . . Why can't you just let me be? Why do you haunt me like this? In this world I know you're far, but I can sense your presence, hear your voice, feel your touch. Sometimes I whisper to your ghost, please, please, just _go away_. And they think I'm crazy, talking to myself like that. Maybe they're right. Maybe I am crazy.

Maybe I belong here in this white room, talking to you, writing you letters. Maybe this is good for me. Maybe these little blue pills will help. Maybe I should start taking them again. Except when I do, you leave me. And I feel lonely.

****

So lonely.


	4. Oblige Me

**Oblige Me  
**

Shut up.

You think this is easy for me? You think I'm enjoying this? Dead wrong, sweetheart.

How could it be? How could I enjoy watching the person I would die for cry?

What if told you it wasn't as it seems?

I'm not exaggerating either; I likely will die for you. Because that outcome is leaning more and more toward being probability than mere possibility. And it really is for you.

Do you believe me?

I didn't think so. But it's the truth. This is what I have to do. For you, for me, for all of us. Obligations are a bitch, aren't they.

I don't know what the hell you want from me. I don't know what more I can do, what more I can say.

Always been like that, hasn't it? My absolute best was never good enough for you. I gave you my life, and it wasn't enough. Well, hopefully my death will be better.

Who am I kidding? I know it won't be. No matter what I give you, it will never be enough.

I complain, but that's why I love you. You never, ever settle for less. So I'll try to oblige you.

It isn't easy. I'm not enjoying it. But if it's a step closer to the flawlessness you strive for, if it makes your world the slightest bit better, I'll do it.

Just don't assume that because I can't be perfect it means I love to see you cry.


	5. Radio

**Radio**

This is a sick game, you know.

Don't give me that. You know exactly what I'm talking about.

I suppose I should have expected it. You do so love to play innocent. But I know you too well, you see. I'm not like the professors, I'm not like Dumbledore, and I'm not like your friends.

Perhaps that's why I understand you so well.

Well, regardless of why, the fact is that I do. I know exactly what's going on in that perfect little head of yours, and I know that you feel the same way.

I still hate you. Why I'm bothering to tell you, I don't know. Because you still hate me. But that's what makes this so beautiful. Mutual animosity. A fairly nonstandard basis for love, don't you think?

Yes, you do. Which is why in addition to hating me, you hate yourself. You hate us both because you love me.

You didn't think I knew, did you? Of course I know. I read you perfectly clearly.

Because I love you, too.

Now, don't think that I'm just saying this to make you feel better about the situation or some rot. It wouldn't anyway. In fact, it distresses you more because it increases the sick beauty in all of it.

I told you it was twisted. But of course you already knew. You already know the thrill. And you love it, almost as much as you love me.

No, I won't stop saying it. You do. But you're afraid of it, of me, and of yourself.

And that's alright.

Because you know what else?

So am I.


	6. Amsterdam

**Amsterdam **

I miss you.

I know you won't believe me. You always thought such sentiments were trite and insincere. And I always agreed.

I don't anymore. I haven't since I fell in love with you.

Another thing we never believed in, that we looked down on in disgust.

I suppose that's why this happened, isn't it: I changed, and you didn't. I don't know if you ever will. Hell, I highly doubt it. But I don't care.

Because that's what love is. I love you for what you are, not what you could be. And with that comes a sort of resignation - I know you'll never love me back. But it doesn't matter.

You don't have to. I would give anything for you to just stay, so we'll never be alone.

Alone. You feared it as much as I did, but we always feared those so called useless sentiments more. In that we were perfect for each other. I'm sorry I broke the rules. Because it made you walk away.

Which brings me to here, where I sit and wonder if maybe things you could forgive me, if maybe things could be different, if maybe you could change.

Exactly what I don't want. But would you really? Have I really changed? Other than a faith in a thing I used to scorn, I feel no different.

Did we ever really scorn them? Part of me suspects I always secretly believed. Did you? Do you even know? Or have our lies become so intricate that we've deceived even ourselves?

Will we ever make sense of any of it?

I know what you would say: don't hold your breath.

But you also told me not to fall in love.

I was never very good at following orders.

Besides, when I do, I can't feel it.

Then I become what we always thought we were, and you won't have to see me this way.

Then maybe you'll come back.


	7. Too Late

Everyone makes mistakes.

How often have you heard that? How often have you said that?

How come the answer doesn't matter?

No matter how many times it's heard or said, people will still be unforgiving.

Why is that?

I don't know. I wish I did.

Maybe then it wouldn't be so bad.

Maybe then I wouldn't be writing this.

But I am.

Over the past seven years, I haven't been a very good person.

I've done terrible things. I've said even worse.

I hurt a lot of people.

I was selfish, immature, and a fool.

But we all were.

I'm not saying it's your fault. I'm not saying it's mine, either. We're all to blame.

We're all also human.

Which means we all have pride.

Too much pride.

So much pride, that when we see our faults, we compare them to others, comforting ourselves, saying, "Well, yes, I did something bad, but he/she did something _much_ worse."

Then we hate each other more.

Well, I'm tired of hating.

So I'm going to say what I should've said a long time ago:

I'm sorry.

I messed up.

I know I can't make up for all I've done.

And I know you probably can't forgive me.

Hell, _I_ can't forgive me.

But I forgive you.

The next step is yours.

You don't have to forgive me.

You don't have to apologize.

All I ask is that you put the past where it belongs.

I don't want to hate, and I don't want to be hated.

I want to try again.

I want to be friends again

I know in many cases, things are beyond repair, but if they're not . . .

Drop me a line.

And we can start over.

I never wanted things to get like this.

Do we have to leave them that way?

Do we have to let them end that way?

Again, I'm so sorry.

If I could travel back, and do it all over, I would.

But I can't.

This is the next best thing.

I don't know what else to say.

Just . . . I'm sorry.

x

A/N: Okay, I don't like these much, and I'll go back and delete this later. But for now, news for you all: I'm running a little contest. Several of the chapters (not quite all of them) are based on songs, even if very loosely so. Some are obvious, some not so much. Titles are a big clue. Anyway, we'll see who can correctly guess the most. Email me your guesses (vostra . sempre (at) gmail .com) and the winner will get to preview the next letter, which will be based on the song (or poem, movie, story, whatever) of their choice.

Yes, I admit it: I'm running out of ideas and need some help. This seemed like a cool way to do it.

Anyway, good luck, and have fun. Later.


	8. Naïveté

**Naïveté **

You were never supposed to mean this much to me.

Hell, you were never supposed to mean anything to me at all.

So what happened?

It was supposed to be simple. A one night stand, nothing more. Purely physical, no emotion. Nothing. The next morning, everything was to be as it had always been - we were to be complete strangers, distant acquaintances, at best.

I suppose it is mostly my fault.

I was afraid to be alone, and as the hour grew later, my options grew lesser. So I asked you to stay with me - I didn't know where else to go, who else I could turn to.

I suppose I've always been a bit naïve. When I told my best friend what happened, she said, "Huh. Didn't see that one coming." Well, neither did I. I invited you to stay the night in my bed, and I didn't foresee the events that would unfold. I didn't realize the inevitable.

And I didn't have to kiss you back. I didn't have to whisper my best-kept secrets to you. I didn't have to lose myself in your soft blue eyes. I didn't have to fall asleep in your arms. I didn't have to believe you. I didn't have to feel this way. I didn't have to watch you go.

But you're to blame as well. You weren't supposed to unmask my mind with your gaze. You weren't supposed to kiss me like a fool in love. You weren't supposed to hold my hand and comfort me. You weren't supposed to wrap me in your arms, protecting me from the demons in my own head. You weren't supposed to still be there when I woke, still holding me tightly. You weren't supposed to smile at me like that. You weren't supposed to be so kind, so caring, so loving.

You weren't supposed to promise everything would be okay. You weren't supposed to be so right. You weren't supposed to be so wrong.

You weren't supposed to make me feel this way.

You weren't supposed to walk out of my life like that.

None of this had to happen, none of this was supposed to happen, and none of this should have happened.

And it didn't have to, wasn't supposed to, and shouldn't have meant so much, felt this way.

Well, it did. And I broke the rules.

I guess all I can do now is hope that you did, too.


End file.
